Wednesday, November 15, 2006

I am not afraid of needles. The sight of blood does not bother me. In fact, I rather like that pinch you feel as the needle goes diving into your vein searching for my hemoglobin. BUT, I cannot have a throat culture done to save my life. I swear, any physician that tries one on me is in for a world of hurt or at least a bit of a blow.

I punch. Yes, punch. I will hit you right in the face if you try to do a throat culture on me. I have a long history of throwing punches. Sitting on my hands as one doctor suggested just doesn't work. One friend found the whole thing so funny she had to put her coat over her head while sitting in on my exam because she could not stop laughing at the doctor's plight. It should be in my file. 'Patient displays punching reflex when throat culture is attempted. All attempts to hold her down only result in kicking.' Really, it is sort of comical.

Once, a doctor thought she could overcome it. She tried to reason with me. She asked me to sit on my hands. She had me lay down. She even suggested I try to culture myself. I just looked at her and smiled sadly, shaking my head. "You don't understand do you? It simply can't be done. I dare you try." She did. She got walloped in the face. Right smack in the nose. She had the nerve to act surprised and then mad afterwards. I warned her though. When I stupidly stopped taking my meds halfway through and had to go back a week later she glared at me saying, "I remember you..." and just chucked more antibiotics at me and told me to leave. She actually said she hoped to not see me again. Ouch.

This brings me to yesterday when I thought Urgent Care or my regular doctor? Sure, I go could go to Urgent Care and be seen really quick vs. waiting for an appointment with my doctor but then I would have to go through the whole rigamarole of explaining the punching. Convincing the nice doctor that she really didn't want a blow to the face. I opted to wait it out and take the appointment with my regular doctor. He looked at my throat, declared it red. He felt my glands, swollen. He said, no culture needed. YEAH! I said, good because I would have punched you. He said, "I remember and I'm not a masochist." Smart man!

Later in the day as I whimpered in bed H brought me flowers, a balloon, and a card. Another smart man! As he crawled into the sick bed with me he said, "My throat hurts." We should be quarantined.

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